


006 and the great double-oh catastrophe of 2012

by lincesque



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Outsider, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/lincesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MI6 requires all their double-oh agents to attend a mandatory meet and mingle with each other once per year. </p><p>This year, everyone's talking about the new Quartermaster. 007 doesn't take it well. 006 really didn't sign up for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	006 and the great double-oh catastrophe of 2012

**Author's Note:**

> This came directly from one of those hysterical facebook chats I have with [Sasu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tehsasu) about how I really wanted all the 00 agents interacting with each other and flailing over how adorable Q is. 
> 
> Then this happened: half weird outsider POV, quarter crack, quarter not quite certain sob.
> 
> 00 agent names are taken from wiki mostly. Personalities, friendships and appearance are my personal imaginings. I haven't actually seen a Bond movie outside of Skyfall for probably 15 years. So um. Sorry for ruining all and any canons orz. The list of 00s I used are available in the end note =D;
> 
> This was written in one tragic 5 hour sitting and still not quite how I thought it would be ;A; PLEASE ENJOY ANYWAY SOB.
> 
> [edit 30/11, my lovely beta, [Gundamuubitch](http://gundamuubitch.tumblr.com/) has given it the first run through *A*, thank you so much!]

006 is taking cover behind one of the overturned military convoy jeeps on the edge of the Russian-Estonian border when his mobile, the third one always tucked away in a hidden pocket, beeps at him obnoxiously.  
  
There’s only nine people in the world who have that mobile’s particular number and 006 doesn’t really want to hear from eight of them.  
  
He leans out from his cover and takes another couple of shots at the duo of probable terrorists, who’ve led him on a merry chase from Italy all the way through half the countries in Europe, before he hunkers down and reloads his pistol with a full clip.  
  
The shooting from the opposite side stutters to a halt and 006 takes the chance to locate the now vibrating phone and flip it open. There’s six text messages and five voice messages waiting for him. He archives the voice messages for later and taps at a text. When it pops up on screen and he gets a chance to skim it, 006 can’t help but swear, loud and viciously, and immediately starts patting down his pockets.  
  
“Problem?” His handler, who has been quiet so far this mission, asks blandly.  
  
006 doesn’t bother to answer, instead grunting in satisfaction when he locates the slim design grenade, the latest explosive toy from the new and improved Q branch, in his left trouser pocket. He kneels up, firing blindly towards where he last heard movement with his right to keep the terrorists pinned in their place and pulls the pin out with his teeth, lobbing the grenade overhead with his left.  
  
He ducks back and covers his head with one arm as the grenade explodes, scattering scrap metal and dirt and god knows what else, accompanied by the screams of two very distinct voices, both of which cut off abruptly as a fireball bursts through the air, blowing right overhead. 006 can feel the heat from it, even pressed along the ground as he is.  
  
When nothing but the lingering of smoke and the smell of burnt plastic remains, 006 taps at his headset in acknowledgment of his ability to talk freely once more, and brushes himself off as he stands. He saunters over to where the grenade landed and pauses to admire the damage with a low whistle.  
  
The impact zone is impressive for something smaller than the size of a ping pong ball, an easy five foot diameter across and at least foot deep. Both of the terrorists are very obviously dead, sprawled like broken dolls along the sand. 006 locates a few incongruous scraps of colored cloth that was probably a jacket and picks up the slightly melted usb holding all information they had stolen.  
  
006 fingers a tear in his suit jacket with a frown. “Mission accomplished. Targets both dead, package secured, if a little burnt,” he reports.  
  
“Good work, 006,” his handler says and 006 can hear him tapping on a keyboard. “You can either go on to Lebanon for the next mission or take the next flight to Mexi-”  
  
“I need a flight back to London,” 006 interrupts.  
  
There’s silence.  
  
006 sighs and starts the half hour trek back to where he left his car, sealing the usb in a clear plastic bag and tucks it away. “It’s that time of the year again,” he adds reluctantly, feeling the phone burning a hole in his chest pocket.  
  
His handler huffs a sigh. “Of course, the memo is on my desk, I had forgotten. My apologies, 006.” There’s the rapid tapping of keys for another half minute. “I have you on the next flight out from Tartu this evening with a stopover and transfer from Tallinn. You should be in London this time tomorrow, even with delays.”  
  
006 salutes lazily, even though his handler, back in headquarters at MI6, won’t be able to see it. “Thank you, sir. See you for debrief back at HQ.”  
  
*  
  
Q branch is very different when 006 steps through.  
  
For one, everyone here looks like they’ve still yet to graduate high school.  
  
006 stops one of the busily bustling children, barely five foot in height, who’s carrying two laptops and a enormous mug of coffee. The kid, who honestly looks like a punk rocker, from the piercings to the eyeshadow, looks him up and down with an unimpressed scowl.  
  
006 tries a smile, tucking his hands into his pockets to seem even more harmless. “I’m looking for Q.”  
  
“You and everyone else,” the kid sneers but jerks his head to a sectioned off area. “Last I saw, he was in there, debriefing 007.” There’s a sly glint in his eyes and a strange emphasis to his words, but 006 is jetlagged, running on about 3 hours of sleep in the last five days and still stinging from the probably irreparable damage to his favorite Savile Row suit. Understandably, he’s a little short on patience and has no interest in decoding whatever subtle message one of Q’s little minions wants to send.  
  
He jerks a nod as thanks and lets the punk kid go, heading straight for the aforementioned corner.  
  
007 is indeed there, leaning just a little too close to another kid - and seriously did Q branch suddenly deage themselves accidentally or what - who’s typing away on two laptops simultaneously and deliberately ignoring 007.  
  
006 stands a couple of steps away, hidden adequately behind a tall pillar, and just watches for a moment, eyebrows rising.  
  
007 leans even closer and he’s basically voiding any personal space they had and still, the kid at the computer doesn’t even falter, doesn’t even seem to notice any change.  
  
006 has never met anyone who’s been able to disregard 007’s presence so thoroughly and he examines the kid again, more carefully, lingering over the messy hair, the pair of long fingered hands flying over keyboards and the rather tasteless chequered trousers hanging off his narrow hips.  
  
“You might as well come in instead of lurking,” Mr. Tasteless Trousers calls, not even looking up from his screens. 006 suppresses a jolt of surprise even as 007’s head comes up, gun cocked in hand already and covering the younger man before 006 can even raise his hands.  
  
The gun lowers slightly when he’s identified but 007’s scowl doesn’t go away.  
  
“007,” he greets, finally taking the two steps in and 007 grunts in reply, eyes still narrowed.  
  
A long fingered hand deftly plucks the gun from 007’s hand and less than three seconds later, it’s lying in a disassembled heap on the table. 006 blinks, 007’s expression turns almost bemused.  
  
“You must be 006.”  
  
He’s offered a hand which he takes. The grip around his fingers is warm and firm.  
  
“And you must be our new Quartermaster,” he responds, inclining his head.  
  
Q smiles. “Pleased to meet you, 006. I look forward to working with you in the future.”  
  
007 scowls harder at this for some reason and turns away, almost bowling over the terrified looking Q minion who had been hovering at the edge of the room.  
  
Both Q and 006 watch as everyone scrambles to get out of 007’s way as he basically storms his way to the elevator and punches at the button viciously.  
  
006 stares. He doesn’t quite remember 007 being so angry the last time they had run across each other in Madrid half a year ago.  
  
“Don’t mind him,” Q says, even as 007 vanishes into the elevator and the doors close, a hard stare pinned on 006 all the while. “He’s been on temporary leave while he recovers from his latest stupid stunt and spending his time just sulking in a corner here.”  
  
006 blinks, once, twice as something occurs to him and he looks at the elevator and then back at Q again. He can’t help the twitch at the corner of his lips when he takes a seat.  
  
“Now,” Q finishes up whatever he was doing on his computer and smiles genially at 006, hazel eyes glinting eagerly behind his glasses. “How did the field test for our new grenade go?”  
  
*  
  
He finds 007 in a bar not too far from MI6’s temporary headquarters. He’s particularly lucky tonight, or 007 isn’t in much of a mood to hide, because it’s only the second one he’s tried.  
  
“Your tastes sure have changed,” 006 remarks as he flags down the bartender, sliding onto the stool next to 007.  
  
He waits until bartender slides his drink over and is back at polishing glasses before he takes a sip, closing his eyes as the brandy slides down his throat, warm and honey thick.  
  
006 watches 007 from the corner of his eye. “He’s what, twelve?”  
  
007 picks up his own glass and downs the entire thing in two long swallows, slamming it back onto the counter. “Twenty six,” he mutters and raises his hand for another which appears a minute later.  
  
“As I said, your tastes, changed.” 006 takes another sip, slow. “Or can this be considered your mid life crisis?”  
  
007 makes a noncommittal noise into his drink and doesn’t look up.  
  
006 studies him for a moment longer. They’re the longest serving two double-ohs in the MI6 and possibly know each other the best outside of their handlers and M. It’s a combination of peerless skill, blind luck and gut instinct that’s let them come so far when countless others have failed. So when something niggles at his instincts here and now, 006 doesn’t disregard it, instead turning it over in his mind, again and again until everything actually clicks.  
  
He almost drops his drink, it slides through suddenly slack fingers and he catches it by the rim just in time. He turns to 007, eyes wide. “Seriously?”  
  
007 doesn’t seem too surprised by the conclusion he’s drawn. He just drops his head down to the counter with a solid thunk.  
  
“He’s _twelve_!” 006 exclaims.  
  
“Twenty six.” 007’s reply is slightly muffled by the counter his face is still pressed against.  
  
“Still a _baby_ ,” 006 emphasises.  
  
007 mutters something uncomplimentary about 006’s parentage and 006 is kind enough to let it pass, this time.  
  
After a moment, 007 sighs and raises his head once more, fingers clenching hard around his glass. “Can we just, not?” He’s deliberately not looking at 006 as he says this and there’s a tightness around the corners of his eyes and lips that speak of pain and loss and too much emotion hidden away for too long.  
  
006 understands all too well and waves down the bartender for another refill for both of them instead of pressing further.  
  
He taps his glass lightly against 007’s. “It’s good to see you again, James.”  
  
There’s a pause before 007 huffs a breath that’s half a sigh and half a laugh. “Indeed it is.” He raises his, a martini of course, “Welcome back to London, Jack.”  
  
*  
  
There’s a long running, unspoken tradition amongst MI6’s best and most talented.  
  
Once a year, all double-oh agents are cleared from active duty for one night and brought back home to London to gather in a private room deep within the bowels of MI6.  
  
Because of their exclusive training, double-ohs usually always run missions by themselves, sometimes with another field agent or a handler, but rarely with another double-oh. Thus, the yearly meet up is touching base in a way; reacquainting one’s self with other double-oh agents and meeting the new ones who’ve taken over from those lost in the field, or in two rare cases, retired from active duty.  
  
“I hear that 005 has been transferred to Greece,” 004 murmurs to 002, where they’re lingering over the hors d'oeuvres.  
  
004 is a new face, an auburn haired beauty with fierce green eyes. From what 006 had read in her file, she had taken over the number when the previous 004, Wardner, was killed in an undercover mission in Berlin. Tonight, she’s in a glittering black number with a high neck and a back so low that it almost doesn’t exist. There’s more than one eye following her as she slinks her way from one end of the room to the other, greeting each and everyone of them in turn.  
  
002, her conversation partner at this moment, is tall, well over six foot, and dark haired. Like all double-oh agents, he’s suave with killer charm and 006 can pick out at least five guns concealed on his person.  
  
003 stands with 009 near the champagne tower, both familiar faces to both 006 and 007 who had both nodded as they passed.  
  
003 is golden blonde with sky blue eyes and a outgoing boyish charm that serves him well in Northern Europe where he’s mainly based. In contrast, 009 is a steady, almost invisible presence. He’s blandly good looking, high cheekbones and sharp jaw, and seems to vanish into the shadows behind him. He mainly spends most of his time in Southern America and occasionally the Middle East where his ability to vanish into any crowd is extremely useful. 003 and 009 are old friends from before their MI6 days and they talk with low voices, heads bent together.  
  
There’s a pause in the soft conversation when an unfamiliar face stops by the door. All of the agents present make a casual movement to hide the fact they’re reaching for a weapon. 006 sweeps the newcomer from her delicately coiffed hair to her sky high heels even as he loosens his hold on his Beretta, leaving it in his shoulder holster and concludes that this must be MI6’s latest acquisition, as 004 had been mentioning a few minutes earlier.  
  
He approaches her, hand outstretched. “005? I’m 006.”  
  
She’s still a good head shorter even in her killer heels and her doll like features almost succeed in hiding the deadly sharpness in her golden-brown eyes. Her smile is amused.  
  
“006,” she repeats, voice like a tinkling bell and inclines her head as she allows him to take her hand. There’s the barest hint of an exotic accent in her voice, underneath the familiar Queen’s English. “Pleased to meet you.”  
  
004 approaches them then with a genuine smile, her tiny pistol secured in her thigh holster once more as 006 relinquishes his hold and rejoins 007 at the buffet table.  
  
“I’m 004,” she says, taking 005’s arm and drawing her into the room fully. “Would you allow me to introduce to to the rest?”  
  
005 nods and lets 004 steer her gently around the room, meeting her fellow double-ohs for the first time in person.  
  
001 picks this time to sidle up to 006 and 007. He’s half a head shorter than both of them, brown haired and dark eyed and his smile is friendly as he shakes both of their hands in turn. “Good to see you both, Bond, Giddings.”  
  
“Donne,” 006 nods back and 007 just raises his glass.  
  
“I heard you got the two Interpol infiltrators, Giddings,” 001 tilts his head questioning at 006.  
  
“Cornered them in Estonia,” 006 replies with a shrug. “Not too much trouble. The surveillance equipment and weaponry from Q branch exceeded expectations.”  
  
Beside him, 007 snorts into his drink and 006 resists the urge to elbow him.  
  
001’s eyes widen slightly and he leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Speaking of Q branch,” he says, “Have you reported to the new Quartermaster yet?”  
  
006 nods even as 007 freezes. It’s not obvious to anyone but 006, who’s standing almost shoulder to shoulder with him.  
  
001’s smile is sly. “Isn’t he something?”  
  
006 makes a noise that can probably be taken for agreement. “Very talented to be promoted so young,” he adds after a moment, when it appears that 001 is waiting on something.  
  
“Such a delicate looking boy,” 001 sighs and 006 instinctively grabs 007’s wrist, stopping him from swinging a punch right into 001’s face.  
  
“Ed,” his tone brooks no nonsense and he tightens his hold on 007.  
  
001 rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “Relax, Jack. Just making an observation that everyone else has already.”  
  
“Everybody?” This is from 007, whose voice is very calm, very cool. In the field, 006 knows that it’s a huge flashing neon warning that things are about to explode very spectacularly. In their current sort of situation, however, surrounded by double-oh agents trained to kill without blinking an eye, each more deadly than the next, 006 suspects the explosion will probably spark off a bloody nuclear war.  
  
He keeps the hand around 007’s wrist as tight as he can and just as he’s about to point 001 in the very distracting direction of 004 and 005, thus defusing the situation, 008 joins them.  
  
“Will,” 001 smacks 008 on the back companionably. They’re relatively close since they’ve often worked intersecting missions in Asia and North America.  
  
008 is a huge man, the width of his broad shoulders barely contained within his bespoke suit. He sees 007 and raises a finger, gesturing for them to hold on one moment, and proceeds to rummage in his chest pocket.  
  
He grins with triumph as he brandishes a shiny silver pen. “I heard you wanted one of these, 007.”  
  
007 eyes the pen flatly. “I have plenty at home.”  
  
008 twirls the pen around his fingers once and waves it under 007’s nose. 006 really wishes he wouldn’t, because there’s enough tension to put 007 on edge already and anything that might be considered provocation could result in bloody violence.  
  
“I just came in from my briefing with our new Quartermaster before this get together,” 008 announces, completely and cheerfully oblivious to the way that 007 has gone deadly still again. “He said that you’ve always wanted an exploding pen.”  
  
He cants his head to one side and smiles. “But if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll be happy to keep it. It’s a cute weapon from a cute kid.”  
  
“Are you talking about the new Quartermaster?” 004 appears behind them with absolutely no warning, 005 an equally silent presence next to her. “He’s really adorable. I want to pick him up and take him home,” she purrs. 005 exchanges a look with her and hides a soft giggle behind her hand.  
  
006 is staring horrified because this was going the way of a disaster, especially considering he can see 007 calmly loosening his suit jacket and unsecuring the tops of his shoulder holsters with his free hand.  
  
002 breaks off from his conversation with 003 and 009 to join their little group, obviously having overheard enough to gather their topic of conversation.  
  
“He is very young and fresh faced,” he comments, sipping from another champagne glass. He considers something and then adds, “Very eager also, kind of like a puppy.”  
  
001 nods enthusiastically enough in agreement that 006 is starting to suspect his sobriety.  
  
“That tiny, pleased smile he gives you if you bring his equipment back in one piece,” 005 says, quietly, still smiling. “It’s so very charming.”  
  
“You know what,” 001 says, eyes alight with glee. “I think we should call him, see if he wants to join us.”  
  
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” 006 tries to say, but is promptly drowned out by agreements from everyone but 003 and 009 who are very much involved in their own conversation and 007 who is almost shaking with fury.  
  
“Oh bloody hell,” 006 mutters, giving up and goes to get himself a drink. “It’s your funeral.”  
  
*  
  
“James?” Q is adorably mussed and rubbing sleep from his eyes when he picks up 007’s video call.  
  
007 smiles, fondly, and smooths both hands down his lapels. “Q.”  
  
Q spots him lurking behind 007’s shoulder and blinks once, slow. “006? What are the two of you up to so late?”  
  
“Oh nothing much,” 007 waves a hand. “We were entertaining some other people, but they’ve knocked out earlier than expected.”  
  
006 chokes and promptly covers it by pretending to have a coughing fit.  
  
“Are you quite alright, 006?” Q’s face comes closer to the screen, as if he’s trying to peer more closely at the two of them.  
  
006 shakes his head, pulling training to the fore and presenting an easy smile. “I’m fine, my drink just went down the wrong way. Thank you for your concern, Q.” He sends 007 a look. “We apologise for waking you at this late hour, but 007 insisted that we invite you out for a drink.”  
  
Q rubs a hand through his hair and tries and fails to cover a yawn. “I think I might pass for tonight, I had a bit of a busy few hours just before.”  
  
007’s smile is softer than 006 has ever seen it as he talks softly with Q and 006 retreats to a safe distance away, hiding his own smile. He’s careful not to trip over any prone double-oh forms scattered about the floor.  
  
003 and 009 are leaning against one of the few tables left upright and undamaged. 003 is holding a plate of shrimp wraps, the last of the edible hors d'oeuvres, and 009 has two champagne bottles by the neck in his left hand, pouring the last from a third bottle in his right.  
  
“Drink?” 009 offers and 006 takes the glass with a grateful murmur.  
  
“So uh. That’s new, isn’t it?” 003 asks with jerk of his head in 007’s direction.  
  
006 downs his glass and sighs as the alcohol trickles through his system, numbing a lot of things successfully. “Honestly? Just don’t ask. It’s safer for everyone involved.”  
  
009 eyes 001 who’s passed out halfway under the table and prods him a little with a polished shoe. He hums softly in agreement as he watches 007 carry on a casual conversation with his Quartermaster, more relaxed than any of them have seen him. “You’re right as usual, 006.”  
  
006 lets him refill the glass and clinks it against theirs. “Bloody right I am.”  
  
*  
  
The next morning can’t come quick enough.  
  
006 is boarding his flight for Mexico for his next mission, something about a border dispute with a local Mexican drug cartel and weapons smuggling from within Britain to the South American border, when his third phone starts buzzing again.  
  
He sighs but nevertheless fishes it out and flicks it open. There’s twenty five texts, from five different numbers, each more outraged than the one before. Seven are from 001 alone.  
  
‘ _I don’t know what happened, but someone’s changed the security codes in my apartment. Did 008 try pranking me again?,_ ’ one of the first one from 001 reads.  
  
‘ _All my credit cards have been cancelled. That’s not very funny, 006,_ ” is the next one in line, from 004.  
  
‘ _There are three plumbers and five electricians trying to fix my suddenly overstressed pipes and inexplicably cut electrical mains. Tell 007 I’ll get him back for this,_ ” 002’s reads.  
  
He scrolls through the rest, all of which are in the same vein, just steadily less self censoring and with more capslock. 006 shakes his head and is about to shut off his phone and toss it into his bag in the overhead compartment when a new message beeps. It’s from a number he’s not seen on his phone for years.  
  
‘ _They should learn not to mess with my Quartermaster,_ ” 007’s message reads and even through a phone screen, 006 can feel the smugness.  
  
‘ _I assume he’s responsible for the countless texts from the others then, because of last night. How on Earth did he find out?_ ’ 006 types back.  
  
The reply comes barely ten seconds later and it makes 006 sigh as he shuts off the phone just as the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, welcoming him and all the other passengers to British Airways flight 0243.  
  
He leans back against his seat, closes his eyes and hopes that Mexico won’t be half as eventful.  
  
*  
  
‘ _That, my friend, is a secret._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> 001 Edward Donne. 002 William Fairbanks. 003 Jason Walters. 004 Scarlett Papava [taking over from Frederick Wardner]. 005 Suzi Kew [taking over from Stuart Thomas]. 006 Jack Giddings. 007 James Bond. 008 William Timothy. 009 Peter Smith.
> 
> Note 1: I realise that there are supposed to be canonly up to 13+ 00 agents, but I was having enough trouble keeping track of 9 of them, so uh. Please disregard? =D;;;
> 
> Note 2: Also, I know that Suzi Kew is supposed an unnumbered 00 agent, but I really wanted another female agent to lessen the testosterone ahurrr and didn't want to make one up, so tada =3;


End file.
